


That, I Like

by quartetship



Series: ADS Side Pieces [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ADS side piece, ADS!verse, F/F, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>["What happens when things get tough? You know they will."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	That, I Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blushyfaces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushyfaces/gifts).



> ADS!verse YumiKuri, as commissioned by the lovely [Marly](https://twitter.com/blushyfaces) <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Interested in commissioning me?](http://quartetship.tumblr.com/post/119989009939/quartetship-after-lots-of-requests-from-you)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy, friends! :)
> 
> \--

**TICK, TICK… BOOM!**

Turning the flyer over in her hand, Ymir stared at the folded paper like it might hold some deeper information than a handful of names, dates and prices. So often had she handled it in the two days since she'd gotten it that the glossy, ink-heavy images printed on it had begun to fade, their darkness wearing off onto the tips of her fingers as she endlessly flipped the small poster from one side to the next.

She wasn't even sure why she had it, let alone why she couldn't seem to put it down. Krista had told her about the shows months earlier, when they were still together, back when everything still made sense. Now that they weren't, nothing did – especially the thought of clinging to a scrap of paper with Krista’s picture on it.

But that's what Ymir was doing. She'd long since memorized everything the flyer had to say; she knew the dates, the times, the prices of admission for the show, and who would be playing each role. She knew the director’s name, the local sponsors who had donated money to bring the show to the stage. And she knew that Krista had finally gone through with her decision to use that fake name, the ‘stage name’ she had chosen for herself before she’d even met Ymir.

They’d talked about it, before. Ymir cringed as she remembered laughing at Krista when she’d first mentioned the idea. It was just one more regret, one more thing she hadn't understood about her ex-girlfriend and the world that she was part of – a world that no longer included Ymir.

The drama that was such an integral part of Krista’s life was still so foreign to Ymir. It was something strange, uncomfortable, but not something that she could ever really get away from while they were together. Only once they'd parted ways was it okay for her to admit that she didn't understand Krista’s insatiable need for theatrics, for attention, for command of every gaze in a room. But it was then that she had more time than ever to think about the fact that somewhere, there was surely _someone_ in Krista’s life that would understand that desire, and meet it.

Krista didn't need her. But Ymir was no stranger to that feeling.

Turning the folded paper over again and again in her hands as she contemplated everything, she watched the ink flake off until her skin was nearly purple. The pads of her fingertips appeared bruised, and glancing up at the cracked mirror on the wall across from her, she could see that her bottom lip looked much the same. She had likely run her fingers over it absently, forgetting that they were darkened by the paper, blackened by memories that were constantly following her, dimming the light everywhere she went.

The show was in two days. Every day, almost every hour, she came to a different decision as to whether or not to go. She had every reason _not_ to. She was still pissed; she had no idea if Auruo would be there, but Connie Springer certainly would be. Being in the same room with Krista was a maelstrom of emotions at best, with Ymir tossed violently between wanting to cry until every other sound was drowned out, punch someone, or just disappear entirely. And everything else aside, she still really didn't _get_ musicals. There were so many things that brought her back to the conclusion that she had no business showing up on opening night.

But it wasn't that simple.

Krista wasn't her girlfriend anymore; she was painfully reminded of that with every other thought. But they were still _something,_ something important, even if it was only because of the history they shared. Ymir had been beside Krista through all of the work she'd put into getting cast in and rehearsing for the show, and it would've been a shame not to see it all come together. And of course, it was a chance to hear an angel sing, to see the most beautiful girl she'd ever known under bright lights and standing center stage. That was one aspect of theatre that Ymir always got suckered in by.

There was a voice in her head that sounded very much like her own, reminding her that she was an adult. _‘Put your big girl pants on,’_ the voice commanded, and Ymir let the flyer fall from her hand with a sigh as she flopped backward onto her couch. She might have had a million reasons not to go. If she gave herself a little time to think, she could probably even _double_ that number. But she had at least a few reasons why she wanted to - _needed_ to - and those reasons were louder than the others.

Besides – if she wasn't brave enough to make an appearance at the show, despite her feelings pulling her in a half dozen directions about it, then she was no better than Jean Kirschtein, endlessly waffling in denial. And the last thing she wanted was to live to see him turn her own sharp-tongued advice around on her.

She would go. End of inward discussion.

When she gathered up the scattered papers and candy bar wrappers that littered her floor that evening, she swept the flyer into the garbage bag along with them. Without it, there would be nothing left to keep her second guessing her decision. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

\--

Despite the fact that a very big part of her wanted Krista to see her in the audience – to know she was there, even though she would rather be anywhere else – Ymir found a seat in the middle of the very last row, tucked against the back wall of the room. It still offered a good view of the stage; the theater was small, the seating intimate around it. She would be able to see Krista perfectly.

But Krista probably wouldn't even notice her there.

The rest of the audience sidled into seats on either side of her, filling up the rows between her and the stage well before the show began. A pair of those seats belonged to Jean and his date, the cute girl with dark hair he was so excited to be there with. Strangely, even as he offered her a place to sit and settled beside her, he looked less than thrilled. But that might have just been the way things looked from Ymir’s perspective. She looked away before she and Jean could catch each other’s eye.

When the lights went down and the show began, it wasted no time in rendering Ymir a trembling mess. Krista was onstage in the first few minutes, radiant beneath the concentrated lights that were focused on her. Her voice was an angelic accent to Marco’s and Connie’s, and with only the three of them onstage at any given time, she was all the more beautiful in contrast to them. Maybe it was just because Ymir was really biased. Or gay. Or both.

The costume Krista wore was a tightly fitted, dark green dress, which she and Marco sang a suggestive duet about while dancing together across the stage. Ymir knew enough about both Marco and Krista to know that their onstage chemistry was merely that – an act. But it was still enough to rouse an uncomfortable knot in Ymir’s chest, closing off her throat as it moved up to leave her mouth dry. She wasn't jealous, exactly. Just bitterly nostalgic over the memories of Krista giving that same playful, flirtatious smile to her, and at how easy it was for her to offer it to someone else for an audience.

Ymir shifted in her seat, willing herself to stay for the entire show.

After intermission, the tone of the show changed, the music becoming more melancholy as Krista took the stage again, dressed in a different costume as she sang a solo beneath a blue-filtered spotlight.

_“Come to your senses, defenses are not the way to go, and you know, or at least you knew. Everything’s strange, you've changed and I don't know what to do to get through. I don't know what to do…”_

The lyrics might have worked their way into Ymir’s head regardless of who was singing them, but in Krista’s sweet, familiar voice, they were crippling. Every line seemed like it was written for Krista to sing, every word seemed like it was relevant to the two of them. And it all seemed to be aimed directly at Ymir; she could have sworn Krista was singing just for her.

_“Come to your senses, the fences inside are not for real if we feel as we did, and I do. Can't you recall how this all began? It was only you and me – it was only me and you.”_

But there was no way; Krista hadn't even noticed her in the audience. All the passion she sang with was part of her spellbinding talent, all for the eyes of her audience. Still, it was impossible for Ymir not to be moved when Krista stepped out from the platform she stood on and approached the edge of the stage, clenched fist thumping against her chest as her voice broke just slightly, belting out the last few lines of the song.

_“Baby, be real - you can feel again! You don't need a music box melody to know what I mean!”_

_“Come to your senses. Come to your senses! Come to your senses, baby come back alive!”_

The audience all but leapt to their feet, applauding Krista as the light faded on her, her chest still heaving from the force of her song. Ymir stood with them. She didn't clap; it felt strange to, offering the same praise that every other nameless person there to watch Krista could give.

She would congratulate her in person, she told herself.

Somehow. Some way.

_Someday_

\--

The sweep of the audience out of the performance hall was a wave that Ymir nearly let herself be caught in. Lingering in the emptying hall wasn't a pleasant idea; she had no one to wait on, after all. Part of her wanted Krista to know she had been there, but the part that seemed to be in control of her feet ushered her onward, preferring to vanish before Krista even caught sight of her.

On her way toward the double doors at the back of the theater, a hand caught Ymir’s shoulder, and though it was too large to be Krista’s, a momentary peal of panic rippled through her. She turned, wide-eyed, and was met with Marco Bodt’s friendly, smiling face, still heavily caked with stage makeup. He grinned widely, as though he couldn't tell that Ymir was screaming internally. She turned to face him, shrugging his hand from her shoulder on reflex.

“Hey, Ymir, right?” Ymir nodded in response; the two of them rarely spoke directly to each other, and it was strange hearing her name from his mouth. His question sounded like there should have been more to it, like he wanted to say something else. Maybe he wanted to ask where Jean was, Ymir thought, though she wasn't sure why he'd ask her. Marco nodded once, blissfully unaware of her silent conversation with herself, smiling broadly. “Um, just wanted to thank you for coming. It means a lot. To the whole cast.”

“All three of you?” Ymir snipped, before she could catch herself. Marco chuckled, a genuinely good-natured smile still in place on his face.

“Yeah, well. Cast and crew. And I don't know if Krista’s seen you yet, but…” He trailed off when he noticed Ymir’s obvious discomfort, maybe a little more perceptive than she'd originally given him credit for. There was no easy way of saying that Ymir would rather Krista _not_ see her – or rather, that she would prefer not to have to see Krista, up close and in person – but Marco seemed to get it, without a word spoken. “Anyway, I also wanted to mention that we’re all headed to a party after this. A bunch of people from the theatre department, at that same house we always head to a couple blocks up the road. If, uh, if you wanted to join us, that’d be cool. The more the merrier, and I don't know if you're still friends with anyone from the department, but. Yeah. You're invited.”

Marco was breathless, and Ymir had never seen him less confident. She didn't know him well, but it seemed that Marco was putting on an extra layer of sweetness, piling on kindness where Ymir seemed to be needing it. _Charity._

She frowned.

“Yeah, well. Thanks. But I'm pretty sure Krista wouldn't want me anywhere near you guys tonight.”

The tense smile Marco was giving her cracked, and broke into a more genuine one. He shrugged before folding his arms, assured – relaxed.

“I think you'd be surprised.”

With that he patted her gently on the shoulder again, repeated a few details about the party before thanking her again for coming and turning back to head for the stage. But his voice had faded into the buzz of the background before he was even finished speaking, Ymir's thoughts screaming far too loudly for her brain to process anything else.

What did he mean? Did he know something she didn't? Seeing as he _was_ Krista’s best friend, she had every reason to think that he did, and was caught between a spinning feeling of dread at the realization that he might in fact know _a lot_ more than she did, and the tiny spark of hope that had ignited in her chest at his words.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she _would_ be surprised.

She slipped out of the doors and into the air of the early evening, staring upward at the beginnings of starlight for a moment before heading back toward her apartment. She got halfway there, a ten minute walk, before plopping down on a rickety bench and letting herself come to terms with the fact that she was most likely going to a party that evening.

She wondered if it would make any difference.

\--

Wandering back toward the theatre building, Ymir continued volleying the decision to go to the party, back and forth in her head.

She'd already walked all the way back, she reminded herself. Another ten minutes in that direction wouldn't kill her. And if she didn't go through with it, she'd be stuck walking back and forth for half the evening, debating her own sanity. She shuddered, jamming her hands as far as she could into the slim pockets of her jeans.

Marco had _invited_ her. He seemed to do so with purpose, like he had some sort of intention woven into it. He meant for her to come, _wanted_ her to come, and she couldn't think of any other reason than because of Krista. There was always the possibility that he just meant well, and didn't really understand that they weren't together, that Krista obviously wanted nothing to do with Ymir and that the situation was entirely hopeless. But he was Krista’s closest friend; he could see the entire situation from a different perspective, and there was the shadow of hope that the way he was seeing it was better than Ymir’s grim view.

Still arguing with herself, Ymir heard the clamor of people nearing her, and ducked between two nearby buildings to avoid having to wade through a group of passers by. But the people that passed weren't strangers. Ymir’s heart leapt to her tightened throat as Krista strode by the narrow strip of street that Ymir could see between the two buildings, her blonde hair shining under the warm light of street lamps. She was flanked on either side by people, couples that walked beside her. On one side, Connie Springer and a woman with auburn hair, presumably his girlfriend, Sasha; on the other, Marco, walking incredibly close to Jean. Ymir spared those two the briefest hint of a smile as she crept around the building’s corner and watched the group of them as they kept walking, unaware of her presence.

Krista was happy, laughing and smiling as the five of them talked. But she was also alone, not part of what looked like a very happy picture of Connie and Sasha on her right. Seeing that gave Ymir some strange sense of comfort, that maybe Jean had been right, and that she _did_ have things a little backwards in her assumptions about what was going on between Krista and Connie.

Or at the very least, this was an evening when there would be no time for the two of them to mingle. A night when Krista’s attention would be undivided, waiting for someone to take it and return it.

After another long moment of debate, Ymir huffed and headed in the direction the others had taken.

\--

In some ways, it seemed like things were always as they were that evening, Ymir chasing after Krista, wondering if both of them would be better off if she didn't.

Krista was a winner. Everywhere she went, everything she did and everyone she knew, she _won,_ charming people with a sweetness so thick that made it almost impossible to get past the first layer of her personality. The depth of her beneath that shell was something she didn't share, and was never pressured to, because people adored her as they saw her. At face value, she was worth more than Ymir could ever afford. She had always been on a pedestal, with Ymir among the crowd of others gazing reverently up at her.

But there was so much more to her than that.

Krista wasn't just a bauble to be kept beneath a sheath of glass. She was worth more than the things people thought of her; the little glimpse of her beyond her exterior façade that Ymir had managed to catch while they were together was more interesting than everything she knew about anyone else. Krista was so incredible. And Ymir was still hopelessly in love with her.

Regardless of what happened between them, that night or for the rest of their lives, that much was undeniable. No matter how much she tried to pretend she didn't still dwell on every facet of Krista - from her beauty and charm to her talent and surprising wit – Ymir couldn't conceal the fact that she was still hung up on her. Despite the fact that she knew more about her faults and shortcomings than anyone else, Ymir still saw her as the goddess everyone else thought they knew her for. Ymir still loved her.

And whether she spoke to her that night or not, Ymir would still love her the next day.

\--

The sounds of the party could be heard from the street outside the house, laughter and loud music and layers of talking that kept most of the voices from being discernible. But making her way up the stairs to the floor where she knew everyone would be, Ymir could clearly make out at least one of them.

Krista was definitely there.

Ymir made it as far as the top stair before her anxieties began to pull her backward, tugging on her resolve until she was left lingering in front of the closed door. If she stepped through it, there was no turning back, no second chance to give more thought to what she should do or say. Once Krista saw her, everything would be spilled onto the table, and Ymir would be left scrambling to make enough sense of it all to communicate something to Krista. It was the very thing nightmares were made of, a situation that robbed her of every ounce of control. But if she turned around, nothing better awaited her at the bottom of the staircase.

She had already spent weeks mired in doubt, self-loathing and regret. Backing away from the door would only bring her more of the same. No matter how loudly the voice of apprehension shouted, her heart was louder, sick from the sadness it had been swimming in for too long. Not bothering to knock, she turned the knob and let the door swing quietly open.

No one noticed her, at first. It wasn't the dramatic entrance she'd expected to make, and for that much, she was grateful. Across the room, a buzzing cloud of people were dancing, and just beyond them, Krista was standing in front of a couch, hands on her hips. She was kicking gently at the ankles of someone sitting in front of her, with someone else seated on their lap, both of them laughing and shaking their heads. When Krista stepped back to pout, Ymir could see that the people she was talking to were Marco and Jean, sprawled all over each other like a honeymooning couple.

_Clearly_ Ymir had missed something. It didn't matter, though. There would be time for prodding Jean about his love life later. First, she needed to get her own sorted out.

Ymir leaned against the doorframe, clearing her throat to be heard.

“I'll dance with you,” she offered in response to Krista’s repeated requests of Marco, her voice still barely more than a mutter. “If you want.”

For the most part she remained unnoticed by the people between them, only Marco and Jean bearing witness to the scene. Krista stared back at her, jaw set stubbornly, and dread pealed through Ymir, setting off chimes of doubt. What if she'd done everything she had that evening and Krista _still_ wanted nothing to do with her? What if she _said_ so, right in front of all these people?

But she didn't; after a moment, she even smiled.

“I think I'd like that,” she said sweetly, and Ymir could feel heat tickling the skin on the back of her neck, creeping up to burn her ears and her cheeks as she swallowed and tried not to show that she was melting inside at the sound of Krista’s quiet laughter. When she offered Ymir a hand to take, to lead her out onto the small, makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room, Ymir followed. It occurred to her that now, she would have to actually make good on her offer, and go through with dancing with Krista in front of people, something she would've usually rather set her hair on fire than willingly walked into.

But with Krista’s fingers threaded with hers, in that moment, she would have followed her anywhere.

“I still don't really know how to do this.” Ymir said quickly, once they’d found a little spot on the floor for themselves, and it came out as a nervous sort of chuckle. “Sorry if I mess it up.”

Krista bit her lip, a smile pulling at the corners anyway. “I once said the same thing to you, you know. Do you remember?”

“Mhm.” Ymir swallowed and nodded, images of the first time she and Krista made love – the night Krista nervously confessed that she'd never been with a woman, before – flooding her mind’s eye, drowning her in the same heart-melting heat she'd felt, then. That was the evening she learned that Krista trusted her, and the night she learned to trust her in return. Thinking about it, she let Krista place both hands on her shoulders, draw their bodies closer together as she drew a shaky breath. “Don't think I'll ever forget.”

Krista pushed up onto her toes, arms tightening around Ymir’s neck as she leaned in to be heard over the sounds of the party swirling around them. “Do you remember what you told me, then?”

“Not exactly.”

“I do,” Krista hummed. Her voice was quiet, lower than Ymir could ever remembered hearing it. _“I’ll show you. We’ll go slow. Don't worry; I've got you.”_

“Sounds like a good answer,” Ymir breathed. Krista smiled.

“I thought so, too.”

\--

The rest of the evening was quiet. The party went on around them, but everything outside of Krista’s hushed voice was a dull buzzing Ymir’s ears, inconsequential.

It was strange; usually Krista was the life of the party, center stage at every opportunity. But that night, she kept to Ymir’s side, easing her into the scene around them until she was comfortable enough to be there without wishing the night away. It was a different side of Krista, and it brought out a different part of Ymir.

When people began to leave, Krista hinted that she wanted to do the same, and Ymir was almost hesitant to. Things had been so perfect, there in the crowded house they’d been sharing with friends for the evening. Ymir wondered if that bubble would burst, once they put feet to pavement to make their way back across town. For once, she was the one wishing to linger until the last round of drinks were poured.

They couldn't stay forever, of course. But when they left, they left together, and that was enough to keep Ymir walking on the side of hopefulness. Heading back to campus, Krista was quieter than she had been at the party, but she was still there.

Ymir knew that she was out of time to waste.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Krista worried her bottom lip between her teeth, arms crossed as she pulled the thin cardigan she carried tightly around herself. “I feel like there's kind of a lot that needs to be said.”

“Well, you know words aren't really a _me_ thing.” Ymir shrugged, still trying to laugh away the fear of sliding down a slope toward confronting the things that had torn them apart. It was in her nature to run. Krista didn't want to let her.

“I think that's… one of our problems, actually.”

“I…” Ymir inhaled sharply, wincing. Everything within her railed against shouldering any blame, despite the fact that she knew she needed to. It hurt. But she couldn't argue, and she really didn't want to anymore. “You're right.”

“I'm not leaving, you know.” Krista stopped, the abruptness of it halting Ymir’s steps as well. She reached for Ymir’s hand, but seemed to think better if it, grabbing for her arm instead, she held it, squeezing gently and offering something like a smile. “I'm here. And I'm listening.”

Ymir scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, shaking her head to loosen the tension that was pulling at her every sense. “Sorry, I just… Habit, I guess. But it shouldn't be. Not with you.” She knew Krista wasn't lying; everything about her face was an open book, then. It was the _real_ Krista looking back at her, the one that only Ymir knew, searching her face and waiting for honesty in return. Ymir gave it her best shot.

“Krista, I… really suck at talking about things, but you're so worth it, and – I need to apologize. All I've been as long as I can remember is a fuck-up, and I shouldn't even be surprised that I stomped all over everything and busted my chance with you. But of all the glass I've stepped on, I've never been cut so bad before.” Focusing on breathing – in and out, one steady breath after the next – Ymir paused to collect herself. The last thing she wanted was another showing of the screaming match she'd turned their breakup into. All she'd ever known in her life was venom, and it seemed to be all she knew how to spit. Krista deserved the truth, but she reigned herself in from shouting it with the rawness of the nerve it struck on its way out.

“You pissed me off. So much. I can't say it any other way, or I would. You annoyed the hell outta me, and you know why? ‘Cause I didn't _get_ it. I didn't understand the things that literally made you _you,_ and it's because I didn't even try. I expected to just wake up one day and know why we were so different, and instantly find my chill about all the petty shit that was bothering me, but that never happened, and it was never gonna happen. I was waiting for you to change, and it was _me_ that needed to change.”

“Ymir, I don't want you to change for me.” Krista wrapped herself tighter into her sweater. She pulled the sleeves down over her slender, fidgeting fingers, hiding her hands. Ymir shook her head firmly.

“I'm not talking about changing for you. I'm taking about changing _with_ you. Growing and getting better as a person and being a fucking decent human being. I don't know how to do the girlfriend thing right. The whole time we were together, I felt like I was faking it, just waiting to figure it out. But you deserve better than that. You deserve more than what I gave you. More than who I was.”

It wasn't until she ran out of breath, her sentence ending with a winded huff, that Ymir realized she had been tugging at her hair, fingers threaded through strands that were beginning to give against the tight pull. Krista let her own hands fall from her arms, her sweater hanging open loosely as she placed her hands over Ymir’s and gently pulled them away from her head. She held them, smoothing her thumb over Ymir’s blunt fingernails.

“But I didn't want something or someone else. I just wanted _you._ More of you.”

Ymir breathed a sigh, nodding. “I know, and for whatever reason that made me feel like you were pinning me down or choking me or something. Like you were trying to be yourself, and make me enjoy being myself with you, but I just couldn't do it. It's like I was scared of fuckin’ being happy, because I felt like I didn't deserve it.”

Krista squeezed her fingers. “I hope your mind has changed a little about that.” Ymir clasped Krista’s hands, holding onto them as she shook her head, terrified of never doing so again.

“Not as much as it probably should have, but I don't wanna do this, anymore. I don't wanna be miserable because I'm too damned scared to feel happy. I get that being with you is never gonna be perfect, and I damn well know I'm not easy to deal with, either. But…”

Ymir tried to show Krista how serious she was, tried to be sure that her honest intentions were reflected in her features as she laid her heart bare. Never had she been more open with anyone, and she needed Krista to know that she meant every word of what she had to say. Yet under the stress, under Krista’s intent gaze, Ymir couldn't keep a straight face.

She _laughed_ as she poured her thoughts onto the pavement.

“I _miss_ you. I miss _us._ I miss waking up in the morning and knowing that even if you're not with me, you're _somewhere,_ thinking about me and _caring_ about me and _giving a shit_ about my fucking life. You were the first person to do that, the first one that cared if I was happy, and actually _made_ me that way. I just want another chance at that. I just wanna take a other swing at ‘us’.”

She wiped at the tears that had begun forming at the corners of her eyes, not sure if it was from her nervous laughter or if she was starting to cry. Maybe it was both. She looked at Krista from behind her hand, drying more tears before they had a chance to fall. Watching her, Krista looked nervous.

“I really want to,” she said right away, quickly cupping a hand over her mouth as if the admission had slipped out, unchecked. When she pulled her fingers away, it was the clasp them over Ymir’s, stepping into her space again, perhaps as unable to resist the pull of proximity as Ymir was. Still, she frowned. “Tonight – this feels so perfect and so easy, but… I'm afraid of what's going to happen when everything _isn't_ so easy. What happens when I get hard to handle, and you get fed up with me, or the other way around? What happens when things get tough? You know they will.”

“I've _seen_ tough,” Ymir countered fiercely. “I grew up tough, I've lived through tough, you know I have. But nothing I've been through was as hard as life after you.”

There was a beat of silence, and Krista ran the backs of her fingers across her tightly pursed lips, thinking. It was obvious that she was selecting her words carefully, and that quiet pause made Ymir more nervous than anything she'd actually _said._ When she spoke, though, it was with tentative optimism, a shimmering lining of hope at the edges of her voice.

“Wanna help me fix this?”

Taking a page from Krista’s own playbook, Ymir fell to her knees in front of her, glad they were alone so that no one could witness her turn as the more dramatic of the two of them. “Anything you think needs done. You just say the word, and I'll do it.”

Krista seemed to catch onto what she was playing at, a delighted smile illuminating her face from behind her eyes as she pulled Ymir to her feet and whispered, “Let’s start with me, and go from there.”

Nervous laughter turning to whole-hearted cackling, Ymir grabbed Krista around the waist and snatched her up, spinning her on the spot until they were both giggling so hard that they could barely draw a breath between them. Hoisting Krista up a little further to grab a comfortable hold on her hips, Ymir smiled, humming a happy response before letting Krista cover her in kisses.

_“God,_ I've fucking missed you.”

\--

Like the piecing together of a puzzle scattered across a wide floor, nothing fell back into place immediately for the two of them. There was a search for what felt like missing pieces, whole spans of time that either of them wanted to forget. Reassembling the image of _them_ was a process, a task not done in a single sitting. But slowly, piece by jagged piece, it came back together.

Change wasn't unfamiliar territory for Ymir, but compromise was. It was hard, giving of herself and acknowledging when she came up short, but even harder to stand firm when she knew she was right, afraid Krista would slip through her fingers again. But her honesty only held Krista tighter to her, the two of them clinging to the changes they made together to make things work. It _would_ work, if they made it work – that began as their mantra, and ended as a promise, made with an eye on the horizon of a future together.

Total harmony wasn't really possible – Ymir was still too bull-headed, Krista too dramatic for that to happen – but it didn’t really need to be. Sometimes they were on the same page, sometimes they looked back at each other from what felt like facing pages, unwilling to settle for the other’s point of view. But they were part of the same story, lyrics from the same song, and all that mattered in the end was that. They worked, because they decided to.

Once the careful hesitation of their first few weeks walking the same path had abated, the time they spent together fell back into familiar patterns, comfortable routines with pleasant improvements. Krista returned to her usual spot in the stands at Ymir’s games, and Ymir made a very real effort to do things to help her girlfriend with her budding acting career. It was a sincere gesture, even when that help came in the form of letting Krista poke through stacks of scripts for audition material while sprawled half-naked beside her. Technically she was getting things done. If anyone was the distraction, it was Krista, herself.

“I think…” She trailed off, shifting booklets from one pile to another as she hummed thoughtfully over the spread. “I think I wanna make my name change permanent. Legally.” Krista folded her arms in front of her, propping herself up a little higher to look at Ymir. Peeling her eyes away from her girlfriend’s barely concealed cleavage, Ymir nodded, eyebrows knitting together as she processed what Krista meant.

“You're gonna change it to Historia?” She plucked one of the scripts from the mound in front of Krista and eyed it, wondering what had sparked the topic so suddenly. Beside her, Krista shrugged.

“I think I want to. It's just that – Historia is who I really am. If that makes sense. The side of me that I feel more comfortable as. That's who I want to be, all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Krista smiled, nervous for once. She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and looked back at Ymir through fluttering eyelashes. “What do you think?”

Ymir grinned, rolling up onto her side. “I think I love you for who you are. No matter who you decide that is.” She smiled wider; Krista – _Historia_ – had a way of pulling apart the tightly sewn seams of Ymir’s resolve against sharing her thoughts and feelings, coaxing her to bear her soul without even trying. Something as trivial as a change of the letters she arranged to describe herself couldn't possibly change the way Ymir willingly weakened for her, every time. “As long as you're _you,_ it doesn't matter what you call yourself.”

Historia rolled over as well, bumping the tip of her nose against Ymir’s. “How about I call myself _yours?”_

_“That_ matters,” Ymir conceded, nipping playfully at her lips before capturing them in a slow, sweet kiss. _“That,_ I like.”


End file.
